


father and son

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: lucky you’re the one i love [13]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 18:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: “Jen,” he said one night, her snuggled into his side. “Jen—d’you think I’ll—will I be like my dad, with our son?”





	father and son

Robert Encyclopedia Brown Calendar-Giles was named in much the same way as his elder sisters: in the most impulsive manner possible. Jennifer Too-Many-Middle-Names-To-List Calendar-Giles had been given one middle name by each Scooby as a spur-of-the-moment idea of Ripper’s, and they’d all drawn straws to see who would get to name Alexandra Willow Calendar-Giles (it was pretty clear who had won _that_ one), but Robert’s name came about when they were two months into Jenny’s third pregnancy and everyone was clustered in Ripper’s small living room, chattering happily about the as-of-yet unnamed baby.

“If it’s a boy,” Faith was saying, feet gracelessly up on Buffy’s lap, “you should name him after Ripper. Like—” She frowned. “Shit,” she said. “What _is_ Ripper’s name?”

“Ripper has a name?” said Anya, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I think it’s—Robert?” said Dawn, frowning. “Right? I never really heard him use it all that much—”

Ripper did his best not to laugh. Jenny, who was sitting with both daughters in her lap, had to hide her face in Alex’s hair.

“His middle name’s Edmund,” said Jennifer through the trail mix she was eating, but it came out garbled and mostly incoherent, so no one but her parents caught it.

“Wait, wait, mini-Jenny knows,” said Buffy, shushing the rest to turn expectantly to Jennifer. “Hey, Jennifer? Can you tell Aunt Buffy what your dad’s name is?”

Jennifer looked thoughtfully up at Buffy with a look she had inherited from Ripper: the slow, smug realization that she knew something someone else didn’t. “His name’s _Ripper,_ ” she said, swallowing, and gave the room a self-satisfied smile before snuggling innocently into her mother’s side.

“Hellspawn,” said Buffy. Jennifer beamed.

“Seriously, Ripper, what _is_ your middle name?” said Willow, frowning. “I know it’s something with an E—”

“Hold up, I got it!” Buffy snapped her fingers. “It’s—Robert Encyclopedia Brown Giles, right? That’s totally British-y.”

Ripper fell off the couch laughing.

“I mean, it’s _close,_ ” said Jenny. “It’s probably what they call the cheap knockoff version of my husband.” She considered. “Think I could swap him out for a profit?”

“If we get a new daddy will he let me ride his motorcycle?” said Alex, who, at four, had Jenny’s terrifying determination to wheedle her way into whatever she wanted. “Daddy says I’m too small but I’m _not,_ I’m bigger than the baby—”

“Everyone is bigger than the baby right now, Lexie,” said Tara patiently. “How about we have this conversation again when you don’t need a stool to reach the sink?”

“Yeah,  _Lexie_ , how about we—” began Jennifer, but stopped when she was given a reproving look from Jenny.

On the floor, Ripper was struggling to compose himself. “If I have a son,” he said, loudly, and mostly joking, because obviously this kid was going to be another terrifying little Calendar-Giles girl, “if I have a son, I am naming him after me, in the age-old patriarchal tradition, and I will call him Robert Encyclopedia Brown Giles. Seeing as that’s my name.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, babe,” said Jenny, mouth twitching.

* * *

 

And then, of course, Ripper _did_ have a son on the way, even though he’d already been coming up with a list of perfect names for a third girl. He was brilliant with his girls. He made sack lunches for Jennifer, sandwich crusts cut just the way she liked them, and he’d helped Alex shred the black curtains in her room to make them look cooler. He had been expecting a girl, because he hadn’t _wanted_ a boy, because he was absolutely, positively convinced that, if given a son, he would fuck up.

Part of the reason that Ripper didn’t want a son was because of a conversation he’d had with his dad about two years ago, one where his dad had showed up unexpectedly when Ripper and Jenny and Jennifer and Alex were all playing The Floor Is Lava in the living room and shrieking bloody murder. Jenny had immediately switched into Protective-Mother mode upon seeing Ripper’s dad. Though he’d looked at the girls with interest, she’d _glared_ until he looked away, then hurried the girls out to the backyard to play in the treehouse Xander had built them.

“Just daughters, then?” his dad had said. “I suppose they’re more suited to someone of your temperament. Sons require—molding. Shaping. You’ll understand if ever you have one.”

And now Jenny was round and glowing and happy and Ripper was going to have a son. Already, his wife was writing up birthday announcements and preparing the nursery and talking at night, in a low, sleepy voice, to the baby who would be Robert, hand resting on her stomach. She’d talked in the same way with Jennifer and Alex, and Ripper had talked with her, those first two times. This time, though, he felt afraid, talking to a kid he already loved so much. He didn’t _want_ to understand that his son needed molding, and shaping, and no hugs, and stern looks, and sharp, angry words that left a very small kid trying not to cry.

“Jen,” he said one night, her snuggled into his side. “Jen—d’you think I’ll—will I be like my dad, with our son?”

In answer, Jenny let out a sharp, angry breath, grasping his pajama shirt tightly. “ _No,_ ” she said. “Rupert, what would give you that idea?”

“I don’t know,” said Ripper, not wanting to tell her about what his dad had said. Jenny had gotten angry enough about that visit as it was. “Sounds stupid, when I say it.”

“You’re not stupid,” said Jenny fiercely. “You wanna do right by your kids. That’s a _good_ thing, Rupert, I promise.”

Except the thing was, Ripper was afraid that something in his brain would snap into place when he first saw his son. That he’d realize his son wasn’t the sort that needed coddling. That he’d think his son was weak and needed toughening up. That he’d start looking at his son the way his dad had always looked at him, like he thought his son wasn’t good enough.

* * *

 

When Jenny was seven and a half months pregnant, Ripper called up his aunts and his gran and he had them send all the baby pictures they could find. Most of them had been taken by his mum, some by his aunts, none by his dad. He was a small, smiling kid in most of them, but there was one that made him stop and look again.

It was one of him and his dad. This wasn’t too unusual. A lot of the pictures had his dad in the background, usually at his desk or reading or sorting through papers. But this one was posed, with a four-year-old Rupert Giles on his dad’s lap, and both of them looked reluctant and uncomfortable to be this close to each other.

 _Sons require molding,_ his dad had said. Ripper couldn’t think of one time his dad had looked at him with pleasure and pride, or clapped him on the shoulder, or done anything to show that he cared. Was molding your son just—not caring about him?

The thought of not caring about his kid made Ripper’s chest ache. Was not caring about sons one of those fucked-up Giles things? Did it run in the family? Was he just going to look down at his son and feel absolutely fucking nothing? His dad might have been softer on a daughter, Ripper thought. His dad had always been strangely amicable with Jenny, during the few times they’d shared words. His dad was able to be gentler with girls. Maybe Ripper was like that too.

“You have such a weird expression on your face right now,” said Xander from behind him, then peered over his shoulder. “Hey, is that—you and your dad?”

“Yeah,” said Ripper distantly, then, “Xander, d’you suppose I’ll be—”

“Like him?”

Ripper looked up, startled. “How did you know?”

“It’s kinda why the thought of me having kids freaks me out so much,” said Xander, sitting down next to Ripper on the couch. Amicably, he bumped his shoulder. “I think a lot about my dad, and how maybe it’s genetic, and how I might end up screwing up some poor kid to turn out even worse than me—”

“I think you turned out okay,” said Ripper quietly.

“Yeah,” said Xander, and gave him a sideways smile. “Me too. Thing is, though, a lot of that had to do with me getting out of my dad’s house freshman year, and you know I wouldn’t have been able to do that if _someone_ hadn’t said I could stay with him till I got back on my feet.”

“It wasn’t _all_ that—”

“Ripper, you’re the kindest guy there is,” said Xander, as matter-of-factly as if he was saying _the sky is blue_ or _water is wet._ “You’re amazing with your daughters, you’re crazy about Jenny, and you look out for all of us. I met your dad, man, and there’s no _way_ you’re gonna end up like him, so just—just stop stressing about nothing and chill out for a minute.”

Ripper looked back down at his dad. “I feel like I’ll know for certain when I see my son,” he said quietly.

Xander considered this, then nodded. “I get that,” he said. “But you know Jenny’s gonna call you out anyway if you start acting like your dad around him, right?”

Ripper hadn’t considered this, and felt ridiculous for not considering it. As protective as he was of the girls, it had always been Jenny who knew when to let them stay in the room and when to firmly shepherd them out. “Yeah,” he said, smiling a bit, feeling a strange, terrible lump in his throat. “She’ll keep him safe from me, if it comes down to that.”

Xander rolled his eyes a little. “I mean, I personally still think you’re being an idiot about this whole thing,” he said, “but whatever makes you feel better, stick to it. And _talk to Jenny._ She’ll  _help._ ” Patting Ripper on the shoulder, he pulled himself back up, just in time to nearly collide with Alex. “Hey, monkey, how’s it hanging?” he asked, ruffling her hair.

“I wanna talk to Daddy,” said Alex.

“I was just on my way out,” said Xander. “Talk to him to your heart’s content.” He threw a last, pointed look over his shoulder, one that seemed remarkably grown-up. It was a bit strange for Ripper to realize that Xander and Buffy and Willow and the rest were all fully-fledged adults, enough so that they could give _him_ some rather solid advice.

“Daddy, I drew you this,” said Alex solemnly, and handed him a torn page out of a very expensive book of supernatural illustrations. She had not, in fact, drawn anything on it: the illustration of an impish pixie remained completely unmarred, despite the jagged line where it had been torn from the book.

“Alex _andra,_ ” said Ripper, trying not to laugh. This felt like one of those moments where he had to be all discipline-heavy, but his daughter’s attempt to plagiarize a drawing out of a book they regularly read together was the funniest fucking thing he had seen all day. “You know this isn’t yours.”

“Yes it is, it’s mine!” said Alex, genuinely affronted. “I saw it and I _drew_ it and it’s _mine!”_

“Alex, you and I both know your drawings are much, much better than this,” said Ripper, tapping her on the nose. She grinned, looking surprised and extremely pleased. “And you _know_ you’re not to tear out pages of books. What do I always say about books, hmm?”

“Books are our teachers our history and our legacy,” Alex rattled off, all in one breath, “but you’ve been all sad today, so I thought maybe my drawing wouldn’t be good enough to make you less sad, so I picked a drawing I _knew_ you liked ‘cause we read that book all the time but it was too _hard_ to draw and Jennifer said it looked like a mermaid, not a fairy—”

Ripper picked up Alex and pulled her up onto his lap. “I love you bunches, Alex,” he informed her. “You know that, don’t you?”

“ _Yes,_ ” said Alex impatiently, “and I love you _too,_ but none of my pictures are good enough—”

“Lexie darling,” said Ripper, “much like generations of Gileses before you, you are completely missing the point. Would you rather have a new bedspread or the one you and Auntie Tara and I all made together?”

“A  _new one,_ ” said Alex, “because then I would have _two,_ and that’s more than Jennifer has.”

“Right,” said Ripper. It was increasingly difficult not to laugh. “Scratch that line of thought, then. I love all of your pictures, because you put in time and effort and you made them special for me. Something you ripped out of a book won’t be half as good as something you worked hard to give me, and something you ripped out of a book isn’t really something that comes from _you._ How’s that?”

“Okay,” said Alex, smiling a little. “I’ll draw you something for _real_ next time.”

“Good,” said Ripper, and kissed the top of her head.

“If I ask Auntie Willow to fix the book with magic, will that make you less sad?” Alex asked, patting his face.

Ripper considered this, then said, “How about you ask your mum to help you fix the book _without_ magic?”

“But that’s _work!”_

“I know,” said Ripper. “Isn’t it awful?”

Alex scowled. “It is _too much trouble_ to keep you happy, Daddy,” she said, and clambered off his lap, hurrying off with the torn page.

Ripper waited until she was up the stairs to collapse into giggles; Alex took after him in the _worst_ of ways. He’d done much the same thing when he was her age, tore out a page from a rare volume of his dad’s just because he liked the pictures, and his dad had shouted at him for an hour and a half until his gran had come home and finally intervened.

Ripper had been crying, some thirty-odd years ago, and now his daughter was off, grouchy but good-natured, to be taught how to mend things by her mum. There was something to be said about that.

* * *

 

Jenny’s water broke when she, Faith, and Buffy were in the middle of a rather intense round of Mario Kart, and so her loud, frustrated, “Oh, come _on!”_ was initially interpreted by Ripper as a reaction to the game. But then he heard Faith saying, “Jen, if your water breaks you gotta forfeit!” and peered, wide-eyed, at an infuriated Jenny.

“No  _way!”_ said Jenny, her voice tight. “I have had _two kids already,_ and this is my highest score on Rainbow Road!”

“Fine,” said Faith, “one more lap—”

“For the love of god, Jen,” said Ripper, trying not to laugh, “was your plan to just—just hold in the kid until you’ve finished the race?”

“Finished the _cup,_ ” said Jenny, “we have two more races after this and I’m kicking Faith’s ass.” She made a violent motion with her Wii remote that nearly clocked Xander in the face.

“God, this is gonna be such a fun anecdote to tell little Encyclopedia Brown,” said Buffy to Willow. “ _Yeah, your mom was so determined to finish her game of Mario Kart that you were born on the living room couch._ ”

“Laugh it up all you want, Summers, I’m still beating you,” said Jenny. Her hands were trembling on the Wii remote.

Ripper hesitated, then crossed the room, gently prying Jenny’s fingers free of the remote, then bringing her hands up to quietly kiss them. “All right?” he said.

“What if I can’t handle three?” said Jenny in a small voice. “Two is already a bunch, and I worry so _much_ about them—what happens if I just go totally crazy worrying about them and you and Buffy and Willow and Xander and Faith and Tara and Anya and—”

“Breathe, Jen,” said Ripper. “You’ve done this before. It’s just about the same, isn’t it?”

“You know it’s different each time,” said Jenny, sniffling. “And each time I feel like I’m gonna just completely mess these kids up.”

“You haven’t messed _me_ up,” said Jennifer helpfully, then amended, “yet,” and surreptitiously picked up her mother’s Wii remote to finish the third lap.

“See?” said Ripper, registered what Jennifer had said, and rolled his eyes a little. “They can be bloody nightmares, but we’re doing all right. One more won’t change that.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” said Ripper, and realized with a small jolt that he _meant_ it. “Let’s go.”

Jenny gave him a small, wobbly smile, and stepped into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Observing this, Alex _ran_ over, all but tripping over her own feet in her determination to worm her way into the hug. Opening one arm, Ripper lifted her up and pulled Alex into the middle, and felt Jennifer’s small arm around his waist as she too snuggled in.

“Ugh, you guys are gross,” said Dawn. “Disgusting.”

“Shouldn’t you be, you know, getting ready to take Jenny to the _hospital?”_ said Anya.

Ripper tried to remember a time, when he was small, that his dad had hugged him, or that he’d ever seen his dad hug his mum. He didn’t think he could. It made him feel dizzily, stupidly lucky, having Jenny and the girls and a baby on the way. “I love you,” he whispered gruffly, and he _loved_ that he didn’t have to specify who it was directed at. They knew it was for all of them.

* * *

 

Robert E. B. Calendar-Giles looked very, very much like his mother. Jennifer was a fifty-fifty mix of both her parents, and light-haired, strong-chinned Alex was very visibly Ripper’s kid (though she’d inherited Jenny’s smile), but Robert looked almost all like Jenny, turned-up nose and light complexion and dark, downy hair. He was, however, the only of Ripper’s children to have inherited the glinting green-blue eyes of a Giles, and it was a bit unnerving to see Ripper’s eyes, Ripper’s dad’s eyes, Ripper’s gran’s eyes, in this tiny little kid.

And Ripper couldn’t let go of him.

“He’s like Guy Jenny!” said Xander, laughing at his own joke. “That’s what you should have named him, Ripper, _Guy Jenny._ Wasn’t  _Guy_ a name people had way back when?”

“ _My_ name is Jenny,” said Jennifer, affronted, “mine and Mom’s. No one _else_ gets to be Jenny but us.”

“Jennifer, honey, you do know that _other_ people are named Jenny—” Willow began.

“Hi,” said Ripper to Robert in a very small voice. Robert looked up at him. Jennifer had been mostly asleep when Ripper had first held her, and Alex had just _refused_ to stop squirming, but Robert was quiet, and small, and looking at Ripper with big, trusting green eyes. “Hi,” said Ripper again, and resolved to punch his dad in the teeth for  _ever_ saying that Robert E. B. Calendar-Giles needed  _anything_ but love.

“You have murder face on,” said Jenny. “Should I be concerned? Also, do I get to hold him at any point in time?”

“You held him for _nine months,_ ” said Ripper. “He needs to know I love him too.” But he handed Robert back to Jenny, settling himself in next to her as she smoothed down their son's hair. “My dad said sons need molding,” he said. “Shaping.”

Jenny’s face twisted. “Your dad’s an idiot,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” said Ripper, reaching out to touch Robert again. Robert’s tiny baby hand latched hard on his finger. “He needs protecting, this kid,” said Ripper softly.

“All our kids need protecting,” said Jenny. “Did you know that yesterday I caught Jennifer trying to unlock your weapons cabinet? She hadn’t gotten anywhere with it, thank goodness—” She stopped, smiling a bit as Robert’s eyes turned on her. “Hi,” she whispered, in the same voice she’d used with him from the beginning. “Hi, honey. How’s it going?”

Robert looked solemnly at Jenny, then back to Ripper.

“Your mum ‘n I, we’ll take care of you,” said Ripper, and sniffled ungracefully. “Hang on—” He swallowed, hard, feeling a wonderful, painful, indefinable emotion. Dropping a clumsy kiss to Jenny’s temple, he pulled himself up and out of the bed, then hurried out into the hallway.

He slumped against the wall and started to cry. It wasn’t anguish, or guilt, or anything unfixable: it was just that things with his dad had never been okay. And things with his dad might never be okay. And things with his son were _always_ going to be okay, because Ripper _loved_ his son, just like he loved his daughters. It was a lot to feel in one moment.

Someone leaned against the wall next to him, and Ripper swallowed hard, looking up.

“You okay, man?” said Xander.

“Iffy,” said Ripper, and sniffled, smiling wryly. “Didn’t wanna worry Jen.”

“She’s probably worried anyway,” said Xander with a light laugh in his voice. “You wanna go back in?”

Ripper looked in through the tiny window set in the hospital door. Jenny was in the middle of the bed, Jennifer sitting next to her, Tara very patiently keeping Jennifer from poking at Robert’s face. Buffy and Willow were eating vending machine candy, Faith was playing cards with Anya and Dawn, and Alexandra, tiny plagiarist, smallest Scooby up till now, was sitting in one of the hospital chairs, smiling a little as she watched the room. When he was Alex’s age, Ripper had never smiled quite like that.

“Yeah,” he said, and let Xander lead the way.

* * *

 

Robert was crying. Jenny, exhausted from labor, was fast asleep, the girls cuddled on either side of her, and the Scoobies were sprawled gracelessly across the hospital room in a variety of sleeping bags and blankets. After gently untangling himself from his wife and daughters, Ripper made his way across the room to his son, picking him carefully up.

Robert wailed. “It’s all right,” said Ripper, then considered it a bit more. “Well, no, it’s quite a lot for you, isn’t it? Brave new world and all that.” He bounced Robert gently. “You’re adjusting very well,” he added. “I’d not be surprised if you were sleeping through the night within the week. You seem like a smart little fellow.”

Robert snuffled, eyes bright and wet, hand clutching Ripper’s shirt.

“There we are,” said Ripper, and dropped a kiss to Robert’s head.

**Author's Note:**

> edit: GO READ THE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING FIC JACK WROTE WHEN INSPIRED BY THIS. seriously!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Have One New Message](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564760) by [JackalopingIntoTheVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackalopingIntoTheVoid/pseuds/JackalopingIntoTheVoid)




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